


now isn't the time (to play it safe)

by empathieves



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fantasizing, Fisting, M/M, Mind Meld, Porn with Feelings, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Requited Love, T'hy'la, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 22:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathieves/pseuds/empathieves
Summary: Jim fantasises about Spock. Through unforeseen circumstances, Spock finds out.





	now isn't the time (to play it safe)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm terrible at summaries! this was supposed to pwp but it ended up being sappy, introspective porn with feelings and a bit of plot. also, worth noting i've literally only seen the alternate original series, so some things may not be TOS accurate. enjoy?

When Jim isn’t handling immediate disasters or negotiating diplomatic treaties, he fantasises. It’s never what he thinks of as ‘fantasising with intent’ – he’s not doing it because he’s horny, or because he wants to jerk off, or anything like that. It’s something to keep his mind occupied. It doesn’t interfere with his duties as a captain, though if he’s honest with himself most his duties when he’s not in some kind of crisis stack up to paperwork. It’s idle, harmless stuff most of the time. He makes a point not to daydream about his crew even if they are all inordinately attractive, so he mostly thinks about people from his past. Katarina, with her dextrous hands and wide hips, the way she wielded a crop like it was an extension of her arm, her voice when she ordered him down into the softness of subspace. Liam, and the looseness of his limbs, his easy grace even as he rode Jim into oblivion, the way his brow furrowed when he came. He puts them into new scenarios, plays them out in his head, letting them unfurl slowly in his mind over days, until the result is a complete scene that he can, if he does so choose, use to pleasure himself. Or, as is more common, cast it away.

By the time they’re a year into their five year mission he’s broken his rule about crewman twice. Once with an oddly specific fantasy about Bones strapping him down in the medbay and talking dirty to him for _hours_ , and while that made their interactions a little uncomfortable afterwards, Jim consoled himself with the fact that Bones – along with Spock, actually – was one of two officers on his ship that he was technically on the same level of authority as, and was therefore allowed to pursue a relationship with. He wouldn’t – Bones had made it clear in their Academy days that whatever he felt for Jim, it was platonic – but it was nice to know that it wasn’t like he was being unethical by thinking about Bones in a sexual way.

The second time he broke the rule about his crewman, it was with Spock, which made it automatically different from the time with Bones. Mostly because while he had only platonic feelings for Bones, that was becoming increasingly untrue with Spock. He was aware that something had changed between them when he’d died – of course he’d been aware, he’d seen the footage of Spock bearing down on Khan like some kind of avenging god, angrier than Jim had ever seen him, terrifying in a way that made Jim sort of breathless. That, added to watching Spock shed actual tears at his death, had been enough to alter their dynamic permanently in an imperceptible way.

So he thinks about it. What it would be like, if Spock touched him. He imagines the myriad of ways Spock could touch, wondering which was the right way, the way that he actually would touch if he did. Would he be hesitant, soft, holding back like Jim was fragile? Confident, deft touches, a knowing look in his dark eyes? Or would it be possessive, hands harsh enough to bruise, teeth set against the nape of Jim’s neck? He mulls it over, deliberates over the puzzle, ends up simply creating each scenario.

It becomes a regular occurrence, breaking his rule for Spock. He thinks about Spock nearly all the time, in the back of his mind. Their relationship doesn’t change, even if Jim is spending most of his mental energy coming up with all the ways Spock could fuck him. They play chess, they go on missions, he gets berated for risking his life, Spock snarks at someone on his behalf, it’s all the same as usual.

Until it’s not.

***

The stupid thing is, he would never have actually made a move on Spock. He’s never been one for sustained romantic relationships, and what he does have with Spock – the easy, close friendship that he relies on – is more important than the risk of rejection. Their dynamic is different since he died, and he knows that, and he _likes_ the way it is now. It’s good and simple in the same way as his relationship with Bones. When he really thinks about it, he knows that neither relationship is _actually_ simple, because Bones is more like his platonic life partner than just a ‘best friend’, and Spock literally tried to kill someone who was supposed to be unkillable because of Jim. He doesn’t really know what it is about him that seems to inspire people to extremes. It just happens.

In any case, he was _never_ going to tell Spock about his romantic feelings, let alone the sexual fantasies he’s been harbouring for months now.  Unfortunately for him, he still doesn’t quite grasp how mind melds work, and he doesn’t have enough control over his mental landscape to actually stop any information from seeping through a meld.

He’s been fantasising for the last few days about Spock fisting him when it happens.

The fantasy was actually pretty simple, and borne out of a curiosity about erogenous zones. He’s confirmed with the older Spock that Vulcans have extremely sensitive hands, which naturally devolved into an extremely detailed, vivid exploration of how fingering would probably feel like fucking to Spock. He’s always liked Spock’s hands – long, elegant fingers, much stronger and more dextrous than Jim’s own. He thinks about Spock opening him up, taking his time, not adding another finger until Jim’s begging for it, moaning for it, desperate for it. He thinks about the last time he took a fist, the satisfying burn of it, the way he felt simultaneously more vulnerable and more in control of his body than he’d ever been in his life. He thinks about that feeling, projects it into this fantasy, adds the layer of affection and trust that he knows any scene with Spock requires. He knows, in his own head, that he could give over control to Spock in a second. He also knows that he could take control from Spock, if it’s something that’s wanted. He thinks about control, and trust, and the way Spock would feel inside him, making him take it and knowing that he would _want_ to, knowing that Jim loved doing that, knowing that every cell of Jim’s body aches for him and revels in the aching.

So that’s the fantasy that’s been sitting quietly in the back of his head for days when they’re captured by some minor diplomat during a trade re-negotiation. He was injured in the process, a blow to the throat so hard that he knows he’s swallowing blood, and he can’t talk. Which, while it would be a blessing to his crew any other day, is not as great when it’s just him and Spock and they need to figure out a way to escape without Jim being able to talk. Then Spock figures out the room they’re in is bugged, so he can’t talk either.

Here’s the crux of the issue: Jim trusts Spock. He’s been thinking about how much he trusts Spock in explicit detail for _days,_ has known intellectually that he trusts Spock for over a year now.

So when Spock puts his hand to Jim’s meld points, the same way that the older Spock did over a year ago, and asks a question with his eyes, Jim just nods.

It’s…overwhelming. This isn’t a meld for the purpose of sharing information, it’s a meld to communicate, and the moment Spock starts the meld Jim feels his mind reach out for Spock’s. It’s not news to him that he’s not quite psi-null – he’s got some weird ancestry in his history, and it makes for only _mostly_ human DNA – but he’s had next to no psychic contact, so the way his mind just _reacts_ is startling. Not just to him, either – he can feel Spock’s mind respond, surprise colouring the shared mind space between them in a very distinct way. Jim can feel the pressure of Spock’s mind, can instinctively understand that there’s a permeable kind of barrier between Spock and the meld. He understands that the barrier protects Spock in the same moment as he realises he has no barrier to protect him. He feels a rush of exhilaration/fear almost instantly, part of him recognises this scenario as a sister to the life or death situations he regularly gets into, and it takes him a moment to understand where it’s coming from.

 _\- the fantasies,_ he thinks to himself, and then another rush of fear fills him as he realises that he doesn’t know if he even _can_ think to himself in this space.

He feels Spock’s mind go from surprise to curiosity, feels the way Spock reaches out to him inquisitively, the way there’s a question in that reach. He tries to bring up a barrier – guessing at what he has to do for it to work, knowing he probably should have looked into mental shielding the moment he found out he wasn’t psi-null. He feels the way Spock’s inquisitiveness finds him just before the barrier goes up. He feels Spock’s shock, and then a quick cascade of emotions Jim can’t quite identify.

He doesn’t know if Spock knows. He has no idea. He could have seen anything, really, anything could have made him react like that. Tarsus, Frank, his juvenile record. Anything.

He thinks, very hard, at Spock. _We need to focus on getting out of here._

After a moment, he gets a reply. _Of course. Forgive me, I am unused to melding. How is your injury?_

He pauses, takes stock of himself. The bleeding in his throat has stopped, but he knows from experience that he’ll need about an hour in medbay for this. It’s not much compared to his other recent injuries, and it’s pretty good considering, but it’s delicate work. Bones hates delicate work. He’d told Jim last time that the next time he came in with a throat injury, he was going to give up on trying to save Jim’s gag reflex.

_It’s fine. Bones will have it fixed in an hour once we’re out of here. The bleeding has stopped._

They start on an escape plan.

***

After an objectively ridiculous escape plan involving faking illness so their captors would check on them (Jim still can’t believe that worked) and two hours in medbay (one for the throat repair, sans gag reflex, one for Bones’ lecturing) Jim finally makes it back to his quarters. He showers, towels off and dresses in the softest pyjamas he has, collapsing onto the bed. He wants to sleep for hours. He’s been given a day of medical leave, which he’d usually hate, but he’s too bone-tired to care. He wonders if the mind meld is what exhausted him so thoroughly, figures that’s probably the case. He really should talk to someone about his psi-rating. He knows he’s on the empath side of the scale, rather than the telepath, but still. He should probably do something about that.

“Captain? May I come in?” he hears from the comm, and he realises Spock’s been at his door for at least a minute. He swears, drags himself from his bed, standing up and instantly realising that he really, really doesn’t want to be standing.

“Computer, let him in.”

The door slides open and Spock enters, looking immaculate as ever. The door closes behind him. He’s still in his Science blues, and Jim blinks blearily at him. How is he not tired?

“Apologies, Captain. I was unaware you were preparing to sleep.”

“S’fine. What can I do for you?” Jim says, trying to get himself into the rhythm of being Captain again. He wants to go to bed. Spock requires his attention though, which means he needs to stay awake for a bit longer.

“While we were in the meld, I saw something…unusual. I assure you that I did not mean to pry, but I was wondering if you could clarify it for me.”

Jim feels a swooping sensation in his abdomen, and his mouth goes dry. He struggles to keep a straight face.

“What did you see?” he says, and he is _immensely_ proud that his voice sounds completely normal.

“It appeared to be a memory, but I have no recollection of the event.”

“You were involved?”

“The memory only involved the two of us.” Spock says, and Jim kind of hates the fact that Spock’s face is half in shadow right now, because Spock’s hard to read under normal circumstances and Jim has absolutely no idea what he’s feeling right now. So while Jim’s pretty sure now that he’s been found out – and God, what a way to confess, just project explicit sexual fantasies at the object of your affections, that’ll go _fine –_ he’s completely _un_ sure of how that’s actually going to go down.

“Did the memory take place here? In my quarters?” Jim says, which is not at all what he meant to say.

“Yes,” he hears, and there’s an audible click as Spock swallows. “You were on your bed.”

This isn’t how he thought this would go in the slightest. He feels his tiredness desert him just as quickly as it came upon him.

“And where were you?” he hears himself say, and okay, this time his voice doesn’t sound normal. It’s dropped in pitch, still kind of hoarse from the repairs on his throat, and while he can’t see Spock’s entire face right now he _can_ see the way Spock’s hands clench and then release as he speaks.

“I was with you.”

Jim takes a leap of faith and steps forward. He feels almost inexperienced again, unsure of himself in a way that he hasn’t been since he was a virgin, and it’s an almost physical sensation of relief when Spock doesn’t take a step back.

“What were we doing?” he says, and he takes another step forwards. He’s almost in Spock’s space now, which is heady to experience. They’re always in each other’s spaces, of course, but this is him insinuating himself with intent. He’s almost shaking with how much he wants to touch, with the very anticipation of touching. Spock has never been a tactile person. He wants to slide his hands with abandon along skin he has never even brushed. He wants to know Spock in as much detail as he knows himself.

“I was…” Spock begins, and then he trails off. Jim takes another step, and they’re almost chest to chest.

“You were?” he says, and his voice is much quieter now, gently prompting. He wants to hear Spock say it.

“I had my fingers inside you.” Spock says, and his voice is a complicated thing. Jim knows that not everyone hears the layers of nuance that Spock’s voice has, but this is something even Bones would be able to acknowledge. There’s so much in those words that has been left unsaid, except in tone. He wonders how repressed Vulcan culture is, wonders if they consider sex for pleasure logical or illogical. Arguments could be made for both sides.

“Your fingers or your hand?” Jim asks, and it’s playful, teasing. This isn’t a dance he’s done with Spock, but he knows the moves nonetheless.

“My…hand?” Spock says, and this time the tone is much easier to decipher. Shock, and a little bit of arousal. Jim hums.

“I’m guessing you didn’t get the entire fantasy then.” he says, and he reaches out with one hand to grasp Spock’s wrist, to lift his hand and intertwine their fingers. He shifts forward, brings their connected hands to his mouth. Kisses Spock’s fingertips. He hears what could almost be described as a moan, quickly cut off but definitely there, and he looks up just in time to see Spock step forward, dragging their hands back down and bringing his free hand up to clasp at the back of Jim’s neck. A tug, pulling Jim off balance, and then they’re kissing. Spock kisses like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to be able to do, like they’re teenagers trying to sneak in a quickie rather than two grown-ass adults with all the time in the world. Spock nips at his bottom lip, sliding his tongue along it, and Jim has never been so glad he never talked to anyone about mental shielding.

He brings his free hand up to Spock’s jawline, his fingers spanning the length of it, and kisses back as well as he can, trying to telegraph into every movement how much he _wants_ this, every bit of it, so badly.

At some point – Jim has no idea when, his sense of time is screwy on a good day – he feels his knees hit the back of his bed, and he falls onto it gracelessly. Spock follows him down, nestling between Jim’s thighs and holding himself over Jim with one arm braced near his head.

Jim makes an embarrassing, needy sound when Spock just looks at him for a moment, because he needs to be touching. He needs to have Spock in his hands, weight pressing down on his body, mouth on his skin. He reaches with his hands, one sliding to Spock’s hip and slipping under the shirt there to touch the skin beneath, the other grasping the back of Spock’s neck.

“Please, Spock, come on.” he gasps out, because he’s more turned on than he’s ever been in his life and they’re still both fully clothed even if they _are_ on his bed.

He feels Spock’s hands slide up under his clothes, and they’re gloriously warm and gentle, skimming along the planes of muscle there. The brush of a finger over his nipple is entirely unexpected, and he moans unashamedly, needing Spock to know how much he _likes_ this. There’s a pause, and then Spock’s other hand comes up to brush over his other nipple, and God, he feels like he’s under a microscope right now. He feels like they’re going to be here for hours, Spock meticulously learning the way Jim’s body reacts, seeking out erogenous zones with the same curiosity that sometimes overrides him on exploration missions.

“Do you think of me often?” Spock asks him, bending to kiss Jim’s neck, both hands flicking absentmindedly over Jim’s nipples.

“Yes,” he says, and he doesn’t know why it took them so long to get here. “Every day, oh my God, Spock.”

“I was unaware.” Spock says, and there’s a hint of what sounds like reproach in his voice.

“It’s not like I knew you’d be up for it. I was pretty sure I was in the close friends category, not…this.” Jim manages, and it’s always been an unfortunate habit of his to get too honest when he gets intimate.

“You are t’hy’la. You are everything.” Spock returns, and there’s definitely reproach there, alongside something that sounds like affection.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“You will.” Spock says, and his hands are taking off Jim’s shirt, untying the drawstring on his pants, pushing on Jim’s thighs. He takes off his own clothes with the same unhurried grace, and Jim feels like his skin is on fire.

“Are your hands really that sensitive?” he asks, and Spock gives him an amused look, barely a quirk at the corner of his mouth. He takes that as a confirmation, brings Spock’s fingers to his mouth and sucks at them, first at the tips and then taking them wholly into his mouth, knowing that this is something he excels at. He watches in fascination as Spock’s cock twitches as he sucks, listens closely as Spock’s breathing stutters and then evens out again.

He pulls back, contemplative. “This has possibilities.”

“I have no doubt you will inform me of them.”

“In great detail, Commander.” he says, and there’s another intake of breath at that.

“Lubrication?”

“Second drawer of my desk. Are you clean?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry about condoms then. I’m clean too.”

“Are you certain?”

“Mmm.”

When Spock returns to the bed, Jim’s calmed down a bit. He still feels a little shaky, and this is still one of the most surreal things he’s ever experienced, but he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in his own need to be touched anymore. More like swimming in it.

He pulls Spock down for another kiss the moment he’s back on the bed, though, and feels more than a little pleased with himself when Spock actually drops the lube he’s holding because of Jim. By the time Spock has managed to actually get the lube onto his fingers his hair is mussed, his lips tinged green and swollen.

When Spock’s fingers finally, actually enter Jim he’s not sure whose moan belongs to who. It feels – it feels _right_ , in a way sex hasn’t before. Not that the sex he’d been having wasn’t good, it’s just – it wasn’t Spock. His fingers dig into Spock’s shoulders and he bears down automatically, wanting more, wanting to feel it. Spock chokes a little as he does it, and he can see that this really _is_ affecting Spock as much as he’d imagined it would.

“Spock, come on. Another. I can take it.” he murmurs, trying to project acceptance and eagerness through his skin, remembering that Spock’s a touch telepath so he can probably feel _something_ of Jim’s emotions at the point where they’re now joined.

Spock hums at him, pulls his finger back, adds another as he pushes it back in. He scissors his fingers, almost thoughtfully, stretching him slowly and deliberately. Jim focuses very hard on breathing. This has always been a bit of a thing for him, getting opened up by his partners, watching them watch his body and the way it responds to their touch. He clenches a few times, experimentally, watches Spock bite down suddenly on his lip and pause in his ministrations. Eventually another finger is added and Jim’s pretty sure this is enough, actually, unless Spock wants to fist him today and recreate the fantasy rather than go for the usual penetrative sex.

“Are you going to fuck me or fist me?” he asks, because tact doesn’t really belong in the bedroom.

“Fuck you.” Spock says, and his voice is low and hoarse. Jim’s never heard him swear before. It’s undeniably, unbelievably hot, like the first time he realised that shibari could be worn under clothing. It’s – taboo, and unexpected, and because of that it’s an incredible turn on. He thinks he whimpers.

“Then do it, God, please,” he says, begs really, and Spock withdraws his fingers and reaches for the lube again.

He watches as Spock slicks himself up, watches him line himself up, push himself in, feels the weight and heft of him fill Jim’s body. It’s so good, to be filled like this again, to be full again. It’s the first time he’s been fucked in well over a year and it’s so good, so perfect. He has no idea how he went this long without it.

There’s a pause as they catch their breath, and all of a sudden Jim’s overwhelmed by the affection that he’s been keeping tamped down since Khan – since Nero, really, if he’s being perfectly honest. He looks at Spock and thinks, _this is the person I’m meant for. This is it._

He reaches down with a shaking hand and takes Spock’s wrist, and guides those long fingers to the meld points on his face.

“Jim –“

“Please.”

“This could have – permanent side effects.” Spock says, and he swallows.

“Please.” Jim says again, and it’s in the tone he usually reserves for ordering Spock to stay behind on a risky mission, or for berating Spock for doing the exact opposite. It’s the tone he’s only ever used for Spock, the tone that he knows is loaded with history. It has the desired effect.

The meld this time is completely different.

Instead of barriers and restraint and a colourless shared mental space, there’s brightness and thickness, solidity, the sensation of being suspended in sunlight. Jim feels like he’s floating, or flying, or swimming. Possibly all three at the same time.

He feels, rather than hears, Spock’s wonder. This is not usual. It’s never been like this before.

Jim takes a second to gather himself, remembers the reason he wanted this. He draws up in his head all the little moments of affection, all the private admittances that yes, this was love, of course it was, who else could it be? He brings together all the times he had to look away on the bridge so that it wouldn’t all show in his face, all the times he had to stop himself from reaching out and touching, every fantasy he’d ever indulged in, every possible future he’d pictured. He gathers them like he would gather cloth, and then he opens his hands and shows it all to Spock.

He likes the meld. It means he doesn’t need the words that he’s been trying to find for months.

Spock’s mind is warm and soft and when he’s taken in what Jim’s shown him, his mind echoes back.

_T’hy’la, you are t’hy’la, you are brother and lover and friend. You are my equal in mind and battle and I have never believed that you could feel –_

_But I do – I do, I have, don’t you see?_

_Yes._

_T’hy’la._ Jim’s mind projects, and he can feel Spock moving inside him again now, the meld settling into the background of his mind. He feels the way Spock has pressed him against the mattress, the way the sheets feel on his skin. He can feel Spock, in his head, in his body, and then there’s a doubling sensation and he can feel Spock _moving,_ like he _is_ Spock, and he laughs aloud at that because _of course_ there are benefits to psychic sex, God, and he’s projecting right back at Spock, all the physical sensations that he’s drowning in right now, the feeling of fullness, the glancing shocks of pleasure brush of his prostate, and it’s all echoing back and forth between them, and he thinks he could do this forever just as he’s coming from how overwhelming this all is, and he feels Spock cry out as much as he hears it, feels Spock’s orgasm as his own barely finishes.

***

In the morning, after they’ve showered and come back to bed, he asks what the side effects Spock was talking about were.

“There is a possibility, with any two compatible minds, that a full bond can be formed with a deep enough meld.”

Jim blinks.

“Like a marriage bond?”

“Simply put, yes.”

“Did it happen?” he asks, but he doesn’t really need to. He can still feel the weight of Spock’s mind at the very back of his, a connection that didn’t sever when the meld ended.

“Do you need to ask?”

“Are you okay with it?”

“I am…pleased by it.” Spock says, after a moment’s thought, and Jim lifts his head from where he’s been lying on Spock’s chest to poke his face.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

 

Jim grins.

"I love you too."


End file.
